Shadowscape
by ShadowShifter
Summary: Things happen for reasons. Completely unrelated events have a nasty habit of conglomeration. People come and go. Nemeses learn. Only change is constant. Change and undying friendship.
1. And Yet to Come

**Prologue: And Yet to Come**

It was cold.

Was this what it was like in deep space? Only the coldness was coming from within. Here in the army base the temperature was comfortable, not as hot as the raging desert outside in the day, not as cold as it was at night.

_If only they could see me now_, General Carbine managed to think bitterly. The conversation she had finished with Throttle not moments ago replayed itself over and over in her mind, mocking her, burning itself into her soul. _You would have lost him anyway_, she said reproachfully to herself. It didn't make it any easier.

They'd been apart for so long, and there were so many beautiful girls down there, on Earth. On her last visit she'd seen how well Throttle and the human wrench jockey Charley got on. Her feelings for him had not wavered, she missed him more and more the longer he stayed away. Maybe his feelings for her had died, she had no way of knowing. Not now. But maybe it was better this way. He would find out, and he would turn from her. This way at least, maybe the pain would come in manageable amounts.

Why did she feel like abandoning all ration and reason and ending the pain? She had never felt like this before. It wasn't like Throttle was her first serious relationship or anything like that. She wasn't some giggly little schoolgirl, she had seen heartache and pain and breakup, probably a fair bit more than most. Her inherently strong nature and seemingly harsh personality saw to it that the tough macho mice she invariably ended up with found some excuse to leave her for a more compliant model. It had never occurred to her to become a more compliant model. One of the many things her parents had taught her was to always stay true to herself regardless of what happened around her. It was what she had always done.

Throttle had been a first. The first one to not be afraid of her personality, the first one to love her for what she was, not because she tried (or didn't try) to reflect some mystic ideal that seemed to dwell in every male's mind. The first to take her as she was. The first to understand completely her duty to the armed forces and the liberation of Mars from the clutches of the stinkfish. He had always been there for her, even through the gnarly times when anyone sensible would have left her in search of some soft little girl that would always be home waiting. He'd even understood when she had at first been jealous of Charley, and admitted to her that he was worried that she'd leave him for someone else, he'd been gone so long. Men seemed to think they had this god-given right to get it on with anyone they pleased but were all outraged when women did the same. Throttle was one in a million.

She missed him so much.

She hadn't heard the door open. The door should not have opened anyway. Carbine straightened and turned from the console at the same time.

A scream of surprise was cued at this point.

Carbine did gasp, but given the choice she opted for grabbing her always handy blaster as opposed to the rather pointless scream. Nobody ever heard screams anyway. Quite predictably, the blaster was knocked out of her hands. It skittered and bounced across the stone floor, too far away to be helpful. Too far away to bother attempting to reach. She stepped to the side, guiding the blow that was meant for her down onto the console. Twirling gracefully as any ballerina, she landed a brilliant spinning kick into her assailant's back.

The console sparked at the impact. She was going to have to get the techs to look at it later. She sprinted across the room towards the fallen blaster.

A weight surpassing hers smacked into her back. Propelled forwards faster than her legs could carry her, Carbine fell forward. Stars flashed behind her eyes as the wind was forcefully knocked from her lungs by the sharp contact with the concrete ground. She lashed with her tail, hoping to at least surprise her assailant enough to roll up. She felt a hand on her neck, not the expected deathgrip of a stranglehold, but a soft, gentle caress.

A bitter, icy chill swept through her body. She could not contain the sharp cry of pain that escaped her before her body went limp.

*******

_Shit, shit, shit_, the rhythm of Scabbard's sprinting boots seemed to echo his thoughts as he pounded down the corridor. _How the fuck did they get in here I hope I'm not too late_. He sharply rounded the corner. "General Carbine!" The door to her quarters was closed. That was normal, Carbine was a very private person. Although she had been a lot more depressed and withdrawn since the...incident.

He skidded abruptly to a halt, glancing at the door. "Carbine, it's Scabbard!" he yelled. She would be able to hear him through the door. Theoretically. No response. He banged on the door. The lights on it were saying it was unlocked. Gritting his teeth, risking the general's wrath, he hit the button to open the door. It slid soundlessly open with no trouble whatsoever.

The communications console was smoking and sparking quite pathetically in one corner. Carbine's standard issue blaster was lying quite uselessly by itself in one corner. "No..." Scabbard rushed into the room, bending over Carbine's comatose form. Her body was cold and clammy, her skin deathly pale under her fur. Her pulse and breathing were only barely discernible. On the line of her slender neck and shoulder, a thin line of fur had fallen out, revealing an electric blue welt. "Shit!" Scabbard growled through clenched teeth. He scooped her up easily and fled the room, screaming "MEDIC!" as he raced towards the infirmary.


	2. Shooting Star

**I: Shooting Star**

To the casual observer with enough hope left to glance skywards, it looked like a shooting star. The difference was it was bigger and it wasn't sizzling up in the atmosphere. Sizzling yes, but it was going to add its mark to the battle-scarred face of the planet. Anyone who knew anything about celestial bodies could tell from its shape and the trail it was leaving that it was going to be one decent sized mark.

A strong ripple in the atmosphere, Lilandra shrieked in pain as shielding was brutally ripped off her belly and left wing. Within her, a lithe body curled up into a ball as it was tossed from one end of the bridge to the other like a cork in a storm. Nightshade landed on her feet but additional tipping resulting from botched correction threw her to the floor.

"This planet is FUCKED!" she yelled at no one in particular. Gathering her paws beneath her, she leaped with all the grace and agility one would expect from a cat back to her position at the interface. Right on cue, another blast hit. She staggered, catching herself on the console, and quickly glanced over her shoulder. Windsong was looking even smaller curled up in one of the passenger capsules, her wings wrapped tightly around her. Her face and her solid silver eyes were impassive as per usual, but her entire posture was screaming terror. "We'll be all right." Nightshade wasn't sure if she was convinced herself.

Clinging to the console saved her from another turbulent journey across the ship. It felt almost as bad as when they'd left Tenaga. Except then they'd had to dodge ship-maiming projectiles. Now they were just fighting the damned planet. "Lan, how you holding up?" she asked, pulling herself back into an upright position.

The ship responded in a series of very deep, very resonant whistles and clicks that echoed faintly throughout the entire bridge.

"I'll bet." Sympathetic pain flicked briefly across Nightshade's feline features. "What's the atmosphere like?"

A sad, lonely trill.

"That great huh." Nightshade grunted, but this time kept her footing as the ship shuddered again. She turned and with an easy bound cleared the short distance between the passenger capsule and the console, landing in a crouch before the child. "Windsong," she said gently, "I'm gonna haveta go out and fix the damage otherwise we're not going to be able to land. I should be fine but if anything happens, Lilandra will take care of you. If I'm not around and you find some friendly life forms, you know what to do. Just don't forget the Vital."

Windsong nodded.

Nightshade smiled encouragingly, and straightened up. She was paused by a small hand clutching her wrist.

"Shade?"

Nightshade looked down at the child. "You will come back right?"

"Of course."

Windsong released her, settling back into the capsule. Nightshade didn't lose any more time. Grabbing the repair kit, she bounded down the ship's spine until she reached the rear service hatch. The blistering heat alone was nearly enough to knock Nightshade senseless. _What the hell happened here._ It was an idle thought as she clawed her way precariously along Lilandra's back towards the damaged tail section. _Holy shit._ The damage was a lot worse than Lilandra and let on. This heat, the hard bumps, would not be helping.

She risked a low-level leap onto the base of Lilandra's tail. The screaming winds came very close to ripping her off. One of the rear mounted cannons popped up beside her. "Thanks Lan!" Nightshade's voice was whipped away by the searing blasts. She would be lucky if she kept most of her fur through all this. Clinging with her rear paws, her tail wrapped secturely around the cannon mount, she opened the repair kit and pinned it and its contents to the ship's back. Working with one paw and a good set of teeth, fighting against the angry winds all the way, she set a temporary patch of skin, leaving the corner hearest to her open. An additional limb to hold down the patch so it wouldn't rip off moulded itself out of her side as required. A growth manifested itself from her stomach, the tentacle coiling around the jar of spare nanites and emptying them into the small gap left between patch and ship. The three arms that were pinning the patch pressed it down. A brief rippling along the borders as the existing nanites bustling about the ship's skin checked out the new patch. The borders of the patch melded with the ship's existing skin.

The extra limbs melded smoothly back into Nightshade's body, looking like they'd never been. Repair kit under one arm, she scuttled back towards the hatch.

It had to happen eventually. Nightshade felt it coming but wasn't prepared for the pure violence of it. A particularly strong upward blast struck Lilandra under the right wing. Lilandra was knocked sideways, fighting to stay reasonably straight. Nightshade was pitched into the air, still clinging to clawfuls of Lilandra's skin. The distance between her and Lilandra increased remarkably quickly.

_Dammit._ More annoyed than anything else, Nightshade did the first thing that came to mind and sprouted a pair of wings.

Big mistake.

She didn't have much time to even draw breath as the hostile air snatched at the newly formed wings, effortlessly flinging her even further away from Lilandra. Nightshade wrenched her body around, trying to regain at least some control. She couldn't even move her wings, it was like the wind was a living entity and was gripping them tightly with invisible hands.

The wind juggled her for a few seconds or a few minutes as Lilandra continued her planet-bound journey, slowly decreasing in size as she drew further away. Before Nightshade had much time to register what was going on, she was being flung headfirst towards the blood red sand of the desert.

*******

In the right place at the right time, the desert was a peaceful, even beautiful place. Any other time, it was certain death. No ifs, buts or maybes, just a matter of when. Mars was rapidly becoming barren. The way things were going, even the desert ecosystem wouldn't survive. Then there'd be nothing left. Leaning on the handlebars of his trusted bike, Stoker surveyed the scene from the very large rock outcrop they were camped on. He could see the unnatural mound the crashed ship made against the gently undulating backdrop of swirling sand. He could also see the furrow it had left, stretching back about two hundred or so metres. The ever-shifting sand had already softened the mark and was beginning to fill it in. There was the deep dint caused by the initial contact, the skidding as momentum forced the craft forward.

Stoker frowned. He had seen crash sites before. What he couldn't see in this one was the unavoidable debris that always littered the wake. Even if it had been covered with sand they should still be able to see unnatural shapes here and there. The ship looked like it was almost completely intact. After a trip like that through Mars' dying atmosphere, into the heat of the desert, and judging by the speed it hit, it was remotely possible, but too highly unlikely. It really should have been perhaps a husk at most, with pieces everywhere. Well lucky for the survivors if there were any.

"Any sign of life?" he inquired.

"None so far, though we haven't been in close yet," one of the scouts replied. "Squids."

Stoker nodded. That was all the explanation anyone needed. The sandsquids were notorious for being in a continual state of hunger and PMS. They tended not to like machinery but if you were unfortunate to annoy one it would attempt to take you down (and most likely succeed) regardless if you were riding a bike or a heavy tank. "Squids should be in bed soon." He nodded towards the red glow on the horizon. At night it was bitterly cold. During the day the heat could suck the moisture from your body. And if you managed to survive all that, the squids got you. It used to be just the Satchka. Now it was almost everywhere.

"Let's go people." Stoker revved his bike. The engine roared loudly, echoing off the rocks to the twin moons, still visible in the purple sky.

*******

Lilandra trilled weakly. Windsong opened her eyes. The ship was dying. A degree in any related field wasn't necessary to work that one out. The child slid out of the passenger capsule. She spent almost all her time in there. Lilandra had warned her via the translator on the interface that the environment outside was less than hospitable. She only had enough energy to keep the bridge at a comfortable climate.

Windsong's head only just cleared the interface.

_Life forms_ was the word on the screen.

"They aren't those big ugly things are they?" Windsong asked worriedly. Some ugly multi-legged things had been hitting them for days, battering at Lilandra with their many legs, fanged beaks cleaving chunks out of her hide. They were wearing her down faster than she could repair herself, and there was precious little she could absorb around here.

The word on screen changed to _No_.

"I hope they're more friendly."

A loud roaring unlike anything Windsong had ever heard before rent the air. She jumped, glancing around for the source of the sound. It came from outside Lilandra, she could tell that much. It grew and multiplied, increasing in volume. Whatever it was, it was getting closer.

*******

Stoker had seen a lot of ships in his time. He had never seen any ship that looked like this. The ship had settled at a slight angle, leaving one wing buried in the sand and one just visible above the sandline. Said wings were completely the wrong shape to catch the air. It would have been fine in space, if something took it up there out of a planet's gravity field. The tail was reptilian in form, and curled slightly as though partially melted. It didn't look like it could contribute anything to the balance of the craft.

"Least we know why it crashed," he muttered to no one in particular. "Damn thing wouldn't have been able to stay upright inside a gravitational field." His radar was showing no signs of squids. The little darlings were probably all buried somewhere deep in the sand beneath their feet, snoozing off their latest meals. Hopefully they were sleeping quite deeply. Louder, he voiced, "Can anyone see a way into this thing?"

Mild negatives returned.

"Stoke." Shard dropped beside him from the top of the ship. He was the Freedom Fighter's pet geek. The kid knew everything there was to know about machinery. "Have you seen this thing's shell? I've never seen this material before or heard of anything even remotely like it. It's tough as anything we could come up with to coat a ship but it's soft at the same time. I found a few pieces..." he held out three pieces of varying size. One chunk was about the size of Shard's head, but not as thick. The other two were smaller. All three pieces were curved, but not in the way metal curved when it was heated or sheared. Rather they seemed to be drooping in response to gravity. "Haven't figured out what this stuff is yet." Shard rubbed his fingers together, drawing attention to the orange-black oily substance coating them. "Fuel maybe, or some kind of engine oil. Doesn't smell like anything familiar."

"Run some tests."

Shard raced back in the direction of his bike only too happily. Stoker's practised eyes skimmed over the craft. It's shell was odd. From a distance he'd assumed it just had an interesting paint job. At this range the 'paint job' turned out to be natural properties of whatever material the craft was constructed of. "Weird," he mused.

That was when he saw the thin stalk protruding from the surface of the craft. Stoker cocked his head to one side, studying the protrusion. He took a decent sized step to his left. The stalk swivelled to remain pointing at him. He took a half step back to the right. It followed. He took two decent steps to the left, putting a mound of sand between him and the potential weapon.

There was another of those little protrusions looking at him when he again glanced up at the ship.

"Hey," he called, raising a hand in greeting. It was difficult to tell if the protrusion was a weapon or an observation device. "We're friendly." As he said that he glanced quickly at all the scouts in sight. Fortunately none of them had weapons drawn. Missions sent to recruit potential allies had often failed because of one stupid trigger happy kid who set the rest of them off.

A sound that could only be described as a low, organic groan - completely unlike any a craft in such a state might make - seeming to originate from the depths of the craft - sounded close beside Stoker. Reflexively, the long time leader of the Freedom Fighters took a step back. What shocked him most of all was the lack of resistance as a walkway -- leading into the ship -- dropped onto the sand.


	3. The Way It Is

**II: The Way It Is**

The lights in the scoreboard were dim. No raucous music played. Those who knew the existance of the aliens dwelling within could be forgiven for thinking someone close to them had died. Charlene Davidson - crack mechanic and proprietor of The Last Chance Garage - paused at the lip of the road leading to the scoreboard and gazed sadly up at it. It seemed wrong somehow to just ride up there. Almost without thinking, she killed the engine of her bike and wheeled it the short distance in.

Her bike, small in comparison with the sentient mechanical monsters her strange friends possessed, fit nicely in the shelter beneath the scoreboard. Charley ascended the narrow staircase, listening for any sign or sound of the bros. For a lot longer than was normal, she heard nothing. It was only when she approached the door of their dwelling that she heard low voices murmuring to each other.

It was a sight that would have had anyone else in whatever state they expressed shock in. Charley's very first reaction when they had first met had been one of disbelief. The spunky wrench jockey had risen to the challenge of repairing their bikes. The ability to learn fast was a blessing, a bit of work, a bit of reading and she had picked up enough working knowledge of their technology to conduct any repairs and modifications that needed to be done.

Unfortunately her mechanical skills and her compassionate nature combined couldn't help now. She had dealt with this sort of thing before. But never with a guy. Guys had their own warped ways of dealing with situations like this. She paused briefly at the door to the dwelling. The soft murmurings continued. They were unaware of her presence. She couldn't make out what they were saying. Hoping she wasn't interrupting anything, she turned the handle, opening the door as quietly as she could, just enough to admit her slim form, closing it just as softly behind her.

She could have been forgiven for thinking she had stepped into the reception for a funeral. Aside from the standard casual dress of the only two attendees. At any rate it was difficult to conceive that these guys would have it any other way. Vinnie and Modo looked up listlessly as she entered. The expression of infinite sadness on Modo's face was heart wrenching. Vinnie looked like a little lost kid, and for once was not plying his usual suggestion for cheering up or generally feeling better about the world.

"How is he?" it seemed wrong to raise her voice above a whisper. Charley settled herself onto a footstool, completing a triangle of friends.

"It's bad, Charley-girl." She knew it was bad all right. Vinnie's voice was quiet and tremulous. Bad ass, loudmouthed Vincent Van Wham, self proclaimed baddest mammajamma this side of Mars. Blunt, tactless, clueless but loveable Vinnie did not do quiet and tremulous. Vinnie was overconfident and egotistical. Vinnie was always ready to take on the world regardless of the odds - the bigger the odds the happier he was.

"He hasn't moved since..." Modo paused. The situation did not need explaining again. But it had been two days.

"Is he..."

"We've checked in," Vinnie answered before she could finish the question. "He doesn't wanna talk." The albino, smallest of the trio at six foot straight up, hunched over on his seat, dejectedly resting a chin on his palm, elbow propped on one knee. His ears drooped, painting the picture of depression. Charley had not seen the third part to this trio since the incident, after he had locked himself away in the spare room that Charley used if she was staying with them. But if these two were like this...

"Has he eaten anything?"

Two despondant head shakes.

_He's going to kill himself._ She didn't want to alarm the other two by voicing her thoughts. Males could be so clueless sometimes. Not on this occasion. She could see her thought reflected in their ruby eyes. Or dark pink in Vinnie's case. _Stupid macho mice,_ she thought hopelessly. As much as she wanted to comfort Throttle, she knew he wouldn't have any of it. He wanted to be alone, to deal with things alone. Such was the way of man. Regardless of where they were from, it seemed.

"He's...never been like this before." Vinnie's tail twitched in a jerky movement from across the arm of the worn chair he was settled in to across his lap.

It seemed like a stupid question but you never know til you ask. "Was Carbine his first serious relationship?" Charley hazarded.

Vinnie snorted and managed to smirk, temporarily looking like he should, before sinking back down into shared depression.

"He's had a few o' them Charley ma'm," Modo replied.

Charley nodded. She'd thought so. "He really loves her doesn't he."

Two nods. Charley had never seen the guys like this. There must have been other times, in their past. She knew unspeakable things had happened to them, had been done to them, before. They had told her about some of their past, but really only events of the war leading up to them crashing on Earth, and occasionally bits of information that would prove useful in their latest attempts to foil the resident Plutarkians. She could see their physical scars, but they never shared the mental and emotional effects their experiences had had on them. If not for the little bits of information they often unwittingly let slide, she would never have known. They were always so happy-go-lucky and carefree, even in the worst times. A righteous fury was brewing somewhere in the pits of her stomach. _If I get hold of Carbine..._The rational part of her argued that Carbine must have had a reason, but it still didn't give her the right to hurt Throttle so much. Carbine at least had the advantage of being ages away on another planet so she didn't have to deal with the damage she'd caused. She could just get on with her merry little life and forget all about him. _That bitch. She'd better hope she never has to come back here ever again..._It must have been difficult. They'd been apart for so long. Charley had seen them together. There was no way Carbine could possibly have made that decision lightly. Was there? She had no way of knowing. She didn't know much of the story. From what Modo and Vinnie had told her, Carbine had contacted Throttle from Mars. There'd been talking, pleading, many tears. All that they could get from Throttle before he secluded himself was that Carbine had dumped him.

In the other room, the one the boys had converted into a 'radio shack', the communication device that was their only link home crackled to life. For some insane, bizarre second Charley thought it might be Carbine. It probably would have been if they were playing through some movie.

"Runt? You there?" It was a very hard, very masculine voice. Did not sound even remotely like Carbine. It had the same effect on Vinnie and Modo that a balloon would have if a pin were stabbed into it.

"Not him. Not now," Vinnie groaned. He leaped from his seat. Modo, who had uncurled himself from the split, stuffing-leaking couch with the grace of a cat, rested his hand on Vinnie's shoulder. Not so much pressure later he had Vinnie back in his seat.

"Allow me." Modo walked into the radio shack. "What you want Quickshift." He could have easily sliced a diamond with his tone of voice. It made Charley double take. Sweet, gentle Modo speaking harshly to anyone?

"That runt still hanging with you losers?"

*******

Modo was vaguely aware of the Plutarkian addition to his body curl itself into a fist. He could punch through most things that weren't laid to waste with the in-built cannon. Punching through the commstation would be counterproductive.

"Where is he?" the mouse on screen inquired, enunciating each word as if speaking to someone with a hearing disability, an understanding disability or perhaps both.

"He's not in a talkin' mood," Modo answered harshly.

"Pining over General Carbine? He always was a softcock."

If they'd been standing in the same room there wouldn't have been a lot that would have stopped Modo from planting his bionic fist through Quickshift's smug head. His grey-furred momma had always said he should be diplomatic - which to him meant not following Vinnie's policy of shoot first, shoot later, shoot some more and then try to ask questions after everyone was dead*.

"You jus' call to shoot off your mouth?" there was the distinct hint of a threat in Modo's voice. At that point in time he was perfectly ready to fix up their busted ship and fly all the way to Mars for the pleasure of knocking Quickshift out.

Quickshift sighed. "S'pose you can pass it on to the runt if he's ever done cryin'." He seemed to sober. "More to do with you anyway. Can't give you too much details obviously, army intelligence are cunts like that. Long an' short of it, covert ops mission. Botched. Some of'em butchered. Nasty work. Rest of 'em gone. No trace that they can find. Your boy's among the MIA."

Modo froze. His throat constricted painfully. "...Rimfire...?" He stared at Quickshift, processing the information. As much as he wanted to believe Quickshift was just bullshitting him, stirring like he used to do before to get them riled, it was a plain and simple fact that Quickshift did not bullshit. He may be an absolute bastard who derived pleasure from tormenting them but he never lied. Not even to save his own skin. "When? How? Who...?"

Quickshift sighed in exasperation. "Couple weeks ago, classified, and that's s'posed to be classified as well but fuck it. They were goin' after those motherfuckin' stinkfish. Who else?" The bitterness and hatred remained. Maybe it was too much to hope that there was a trace of sympathy in Quickshift's voice. He'd given the three of them hell for so long it was near impossible to wonder if he even gave a fuck. Seriously.

"Does Primer know?" Modo took care to keep his voice even.

"Not yet." There was something unreadable in Quickshift's voice.

"Do you know where he might be?" Modo pressed.

This time Quickshift's usually well-controlled face took on the expression in his voice. "Shit happens, kid. That's the way it is around here."

"_Fuck_ Quickshift could you be any more heartless!" Modo didn't even realise he'd smashed his bionic fist into a nearby console - thankfully nothing major - until it sparked and sputtered, sending a mildly uncomfortable current up into his shoulder. The screen went blank. That was it then. Communication cut. Modo growled in his throat, then tried breathing deeply. Had to calm down. Had to think straight. What a fucked up week it had been.

_* stole that from Wild Wild West :)_


	4. Numb

**III: Numb**

It was supposed to be a simple, straightforward run. They'd done heaps of these before. Plutarkian or rat encampment somewhere. Usually quite poorly defended in its infancy, a prelude to setting up something that could prove harmful in the future. All they had to do was sweep through while the camp was still a camp, before it could develop into something more that might be harder to get into.

The camp itself looked like every other generic camp they'd razed. They were young, eager, amped. Well, except for their veteran team leader. Quartz was a fair bit older than the rest of them. He was one of the few survivors of the old school special forces. He'd seen and done it all. The rest of them were eager to get going.

There had been fifteen of them. Lined up together along the ridge overlooking the camp.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

They'd always teased Quartz about being paranoid. They'd learned too late that you should always listen to the guy with the most experience. Especially experience in situations like the one they were in. It was supposed to be a simple, straightforward run.

"You have bad feelings about everything." Ruby hadn't meant anything by it. She was daring, impetuous, brazen and hot. Damn hot. She was a slut. But that didn't stop every male in the company from wanting her. Everyone except perhaps Quartz had been involved with her at some stage. "This don't look so hard."

Really, it didn't. Just a small bunch of tents. Nothing doing.

Quartz hadn't responded to the tease, just frowned and turned his attention back to the subject of scrutiny.

"We goin' or what?" Benihana, the only other female in the group, could be impatient at times but she gave the guys a good run for their money in the area of testosterone induced action. He remembered her cybereyes glinting green as she'd turned to look at Quartz, at the same time fingering the trigger on her rifle.

He remembered wondering if it had been resignation, not exasperation, in Quartz's sigh. "All right then. Let's go."

They'd bolted down the side of the ridge. It was in the middle of an open, flat area, no rocks or dunes to hide behind and launch their preferred method of sneak attack. Still they'd done quite well on other camps set up like this. Storm at dawn, overrun the camp. No drama.

It would have take them two minutes absolute tops to reach the camp. They were about three quarters of the way there when it hit. He remembered the white hot agony striking the entirety of his back, lifting him he didn't know how far off the ground and ptching him forward face first onto the sand. Raising his head in confusion, glancing around him. Jaxx and Flamer had died instantly. Flamer was in several pieces in a roughly circular area with a radius of a metre, Jaxx was missing most of the skin and flesh off his body.

"Keep going!" He didn't know how long he or the others would have remained in shock if Benihana's voice hadn't spurred them into action. Training took over and kicked their stunned bodies into motion. They continued running towards the camp. His back burned with every jarring step he took. His mind grappled with what had just happened. That never happened. That could not happen. Forbidden thoughts stole into his numbed mind. _Was the camp trapped? Did they know we were coming?_ It had happened before.

Plutarkian grunts had popped up from quite random and unexpected places around the camp, some surfacing from the sand, surrounding them. The deafening rattle of machinegun fire all around. He saw Ruby crash to the ground, her arms over her head, twitching as the bullets flew over her, a couple tearing through her clothes but not harming her. He saw Hotwire dancing the dance of the dead as crosssfire refused to let his corpse hit the ground. He saw Riot lose his head in an explosion of blood, his body taking a few more seconds to register that it was no longer alive before it crashed into the sand. He saw Quartz hit the ground, clutching his leg.

He remembered running up to Quartz, the older mouse telling him to keep going. At the time he must not have registered or something, he bent down and hefted Quartz up, dragging him along. The time to fall back was long past, they could only keep going and going. Past Quartz he saw Benihana ducking her head, felt more than heard her wince as the tip of one of her chestnut ears and the earring that had been in it was shot off.

"Get down!" Benihana finding them a small dune to duck behind. Ungracefully but effectively, he'd dipped his shoulder, overbalancing and throwing himself anf Qaurtz to the ground, using their combined momentum to roll. Benihana firing off a few more shots and dropping in beside them.

"We're fucked." Benihana reloading her gun.

"No shit." That, surprisingly, had been him. His throat was burning from the run and breathing in the hot air so fast. He hadn't thought to use his gun on the run in. They shouldn't have needed to use their weapons til they were inside the camp. He was still good as far as ammo went. All three of them flinched as gunfire ate the air above their hiding spot. Benihana was the first off the mark, rising up and returning fire. He rose to do the same when she ducked to reload.

It was a losing battle and they all knew it. Quartz fired behind them. It didn't take a whole lot of time for them to be surrounded by armed Plutarkians. Ruby was being dragged in as they were escorted into the camp. They were the only ones left.

*******

Amazingly, she still had the repair kit.

Turning her wings into a skin pouch, Nightshade stuffed the repair kit into it and sealed the pouch up. Her shoulder burned where she'd scraped along the sand for about twenty or so metres. She'd lost some skin off it and her arm. A bit of blood was seeping through. It didn't concern her. Somewhere in the maelstrom she had lost sight of Lilandra. She had no idea where to even begin looking for the ship or its passenger.

Nightshade hissed angrily. _Stupid._ A million and one ways to have stayed on Lilandra's back and fought her way back into the bridge rushed her mind. She shook her head. No point worrying about that now. She'd have to find her way to Lilandra. Flying was out of the question. Down here was not so bad after the sandstorm had passed but she could see the effects of the thermals higher up. The winds would mince her.

This desert was vast and she didn't have a clue where to begin looking or even which general direction to walk in.

A voice behind her. It was smooth and tenor, and speaking an odd language. Nightshade flicked an ear in its direction before actually turning. She wasn't entirely sure of the life form that stood before her. It was male, stood about six foot something on hind legs with a rodent type head. And it was pointing something silvery at her.

Nightshade cocked her head inquisitively to one side. A bolt of light emitting from the silvery thing struck her in the chest.

It burned, it froze, it stung, all at the same time. Her muscles contracted around the source of the pain. _How the fuck can light hurt so much?_ Her shoulder flared as she hit the sand, slid along on her back for not very long and lay there. Her first reflex of course was to get up. Her body did not respond. A thought started occurring to her but she almost immediately lost it as darkness encroached on and drowned her consciousness.

*******

Mace held the blaster out for a moment longer. He was so used to moving targets -- usually targets moving away from him as fast as they could -- that he almost couldn't believe how easy that one had been.

"Heh," he smirked, lowering the blaster to his side. He approached the still blue-grey form. Mace had seen many odd things in his time. This...female as far as he could tell...was one of the stranger. She didn't move when he drew near. Just to be on the safe side he held out his blaster pointed at her and made sure she wouldn't be able to miss it if she did decide to strike out.

The girl was definitely not Martian. She wasn't anything Mace recognised either. He knelt down, and prodded her head lightly with the barrel of the blaster. She moved in response to the prod, nothing more. Mace examined his bounty carefully. Her head was feline, large eyes, very slight muzzle, crowned with long purple-black dreadlocks. Her ears were oversized, giving the impression of a pair of butterfly wings. Her arms and torso were standard, although her hands were slightly larger and fingers slightly shorter and thicker than expected. Her legs were a lot longer than they needed to be for the body, but that was because they were on backwards. Her feet were large paws. She wasn't wearing any clothes, though the shiny velvety fur on her body gave the impression of a full bodysuit.

He lightly caressed a breast with the back of his hand. The smooth velvet fur was wonderfully soft to the touch, warmed by the girl's body.

"I know a whole lotta people gonna be interested in you," he said to the comatose form. Flicking the safety on, he holstered his blaster and lifted the girl. She was a lot lighter than he had anticipated. Mace's brow furrowed briefly in puzzlement. With a mental shrug, he carted his load back to his waiting bike.


	5. Stuck in a Moment

**IV: Stuck in a Moment**

__

"The ship's gone."

"Gone? How the hell can it be gone? That thing was crippled! It woulda taken months to get it repaired!"

"I know coach, but it's not there anymore."

Quite plain and simple. The ship had disappeared. What remained of it was a withered...corpse...for lack of a better word. Nothing of the ship remained but its husk. They'd searched and searched. It seemed to have...decomposed. But that was impossible. Wasn't it?

And even more strangely Shard had returned from the labs trying his best to explain that the damn thing was somehow...organic. But there was no possible way anything organic could survive in the vacuum of space. That had been proven through a lot of very nasty experiments and...'accidents'.

Equally strange was the only sentient life form they had found on board the ship.

Stoker looked across at the little girl again. She looked exactly like one would expect any five year old Martian child to look. Her fur was very smooth and very fine, coloured a light smokey grey. Her hair was long and foamy, tumbling in a wild, beautiful cascade down to her slender waist. She was dressed in a faded red shirt and desert camo pants. Her vibrant red antennae drooped slightly forward. The only thing that was striking about her were her eyes. Almond shaped and completely silver, like embedded jewels and yet somehow...alive. He'd been uncertain at first but she soon proved to have no trouble whatsoever with her vision.

That wasn't the main thing that was strange though. When he'd first found her, she hadn't been this sweet little Martian child sitting before him, or even wearing those clothes. When he'd boarded the ship he had found her sitting in an odd-shaped chair, looking like she was waiting patiently to be found. She'd looked almost Terran then, if humans could ever be that beautiful. Sporting a pair of beautiful white feathered wings, wearing a white tunic held by a gold cord at the waist, and flowing white pants. She had reminded Stoker of a picture he had seen in one of his trips down to Earth. Charley had called them angels. She'd still had the white cascade and the silver eyes, they hadn't changed. She hadn't moved as he'd approached her and attempted to communicate. What she had done was rest a hand lightly on his cheek. He'd allowed her to do so, briefly wondering if she was blind. Before his eyes, she had -- melded for lack of a better word -- into the form he saw now.

Impossible. Seeing was believing, but he still couldn't quite believe what he'd seen.

The child's legs kicked idly above the ground as she contemplated him in return. "Are you angry?" she inquired.

"No...no." Stoker shook his head. He didn't know how to deal with kids. Well. Not kid kids anyway. The Freedom Fighters were his 'kids'. The girl had been with them a week since they had discovered her and the craft-that-had-for-all-intents-and-purposes-decomposed. Stoker did not want to turn her over to anyone. Doubtless she would get sold off to Plutark or their own army-slash-government would run experiments on her. He wasn't entirely certain which was worse. As soon as she'd picked up the basics of their language she'd identified herself as 'Windsong' and mentioned a 'Nightshade', whoever or whatever that was. There had been a plant on Mars that was still on Earth known as deadly nightshade but Stoker somehow doubted that was what she was referring to.

Windsong cocked her head to one side, peering through those solid eyes at him. "What's that face?"

Stoker had to think about that one. Body language was a given across any sentient species. It was not something people often had to think about. He wasn't sure he wanted to admit the feeling that was generating his body language. He stared thoughtfully at the child, his ever-lashing mechanical tail doing what it did best. "It's...confusion," he said at last. "I have no idea where you came from or where your ship went."

"Lilandra died." The child patted the glowing stone on a thin chain around her neck. She had retrieved that from somewhere on the ship the day they'd found her. "There...isn't...aren't...enough resources on this planet to grow her. Shade said we were going to the other planet. But we came here instead."

"Other planet?" Stoker scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully.

"The blue one," the child answered simply.

"Ah." Of course. Earth. "Where's your home kid?"

Windsong shrugged. "I don't know anymore. It was Tenaga. Bad things happened. Shade saved me." She spoke matter-of-factly, like saving kids in danger was Nightshade's day job.

Stoker approached the chair and dropped into a crouch, eye level with Windsong. "What kind of bad things?" he kept his tone gentle.

Windsong shifted, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Stoker recognised that look.

"You don't have to tell me anything til you're ready, princess." A look of recognition flitted briefly across her face.

"Thank you," she said simply. Then looked at him straight again. "Can you find Shade?"

Stoker straightened up. He didn't want to tell the kid that her friend's chances of survival out in the desert were slim to none. Wherever she'd come from, she'd been through enough already from the looks of things. "We'll give it our best shot," he said at length.

******

The dreaded sizzle of electricity, accompanied by the harsh hissing of the whip through air, seemed to fill the entire room. Large as it was. It made a faint, wet splat against rended flesh. Rimfire's face contorted in agony, his body automatically flinching away from the source of the pain, held in check by the chains keeping him in place.

The whip won. Rimfire's gasp turned into a scream.

Shackled securely against the wall nearby, Quartz winced sympathetically, his bloodied hands curling into fists. Ineffectually he tugged once more on his iron bonds, the cold metal aggravating the raw, weeping flesh on his wrists. He barely felt it.

"Your base location?" The Plutarkian was not too short and not that huge either but had some serious muscle structure happening. Not even a hint of the typical Plutarkian fatness graced this stinkfish.

Rimfire sagged against his bonds, almost but not quite kneeling, held off the floor by the chains that held him so securely he could barely move. Quartz's eyes shifted very briefly to Benihana, unconscious and suspended in a large, glass capsule-like affair with numerous tubes snaking into her naked body. Then back to Rimfire. Buried deep in the pocket of his cargoes, Ruby's ID tags felt like a dead weight, an amazing feat for two thin pieces of engraved metal with a light chain.

The whip hummed louder. Rimfire pre-emptively tensed and yelped as it sliced across the backs of his legs.

"Your next target?"

The monotonous voice itself was psychological torture. Quartz focused on Rimfire, as if he could lend the young mouse some willpower.

Rimfire painfully raised his creamy, brown-maned head. His deep red eyes hadn't lost their fire despite the ordeals he -- that all of them in fact -- had been put through since the botched mission. "...fuck...you..." he managed.

A twisted sneer that quite possibly was intended as a smile flickered very briefly across the Plutarkian's face. The whip hummed, then cracked twice. Rimfire didn't even have time to gasp after the first strike but an agonised cry followed the second. He slumped again, not having the energy to struggle to his feet as he had valiantly done before. His fur was damp with sweat, his exhausted muscles twitching randomly. He looked way past the point where he couldn't take much more.

"Pick on someone who can fight back chicken shit," Quartz snarled, lunging at the Plutarkian. As expected he was pulled up short before he even left the wall. The Plutarkian stepped closer to him, the whip held loosely at his side, humming gently. Blue sparks occasionally shot across its strangely coloured surface. Quartz still wasn't able to determine what it was made of. He exhaled swiftly, tensing his stomach muscles. His timing was still good, the blow didn't hurt as muh as it could have and it didn't wind him like it should have. "Been watching too many bad action movies genius?" he growled through a tightly clenched jaw. He loosened up his neck muscles a little, allowing his head to follow through with the momentum of the next blow. Metallic blood was salty and tangy on his tongue where it oozed thinly from his cut lip.

The Plutarkian sauntered casually over to the capsule Benihana was suspended in. His webbed fingers danced over the console with surprisingly delicacy. A light flashed, and Benihana convulsed violently, thudding dully against the side of her glass prison. Her dark gold hair flowed liquidly over her face. The Plutarkian returned to Rimfire's side. Curling the whip up, he put it under Rimfire's chin and forced the young mouse's head up.

Rimfire glared up hatefully, almost daring the Plutarkian to do his worst. The Plutarkian looked over at Quartz. The fish's scary blue bulbous eyes seemed to stare straight through the russet furred mouse, penetrating into the depths of his soul. Quartz clenched his fists tightly, tensing the muscles in his body to suppress the involuntary shudder that raced through him.

There was a sickening crack as the fish's meaty fist connected with Rimfire's jaw, but it was a blow calculated to hurt rather than cause damage.

Quartz bit his lip.

_I know what needs doing._ The Plutarkian didn't need to talk, his eyes, his carriage, the way he conducted his...workshop...said it all. _I know all your weak points. I know how to get what I want._

*******

Harley started.

She still wasn't entirely certain what to make of the creature that Mace had thrown in with her, and certainly wasn't expecting it...her it looked like...to have recovered. The creature hadn't moved, but she was regarding Harley quite calmly with a pair of deep blue-purple eyes.

"Hey," Harley smiled, a little uncertainly. She squeezed out the washcloth and continued dabbing at the strange female's forehead. The creature didn't move, although her long feline tail twitched, then flicked through the air. A tiny, insignificant little dust devil was kicked up very briefly before its life was quelled by the tail settling on top of it.

"Prrrouuuu," the creature replied. The sound was almost soothing, at the same time sounded like a groan.

"Feeling any better?" Harley tried, brushing a stray lock of chestnut hair back over her ear.

Two clicks that seemed to come from the back of the creature's throat somewhere. The tail lashed again, and one of her large, triangular ears flicked. She studied Harley in an almost contemplative manner, then closed her eyes again.


	6. Push

**V: Push**

"Bro?"

Modo turned to find Vinnie leaning against the door to the comm room, arms folded across his chest.

"What that tosser want?" Vinnie's slender white tail flicked distastefully.

Charley stepped around from behind Vinnie, avoiding the lashing tail as she entered the room. "Who was that?" she wanted to know.

"Quickshift," Vinnie replied with a dark scowl, "Throttle's big brother. He has his head shoved so far up his ass he should be inside out."

Of course it took women's intuition to notice anything. "Modo...what's wrong?"

Modo shook himself. He spoke slowly, as if trying to convince himself of something. Or perhaps testing out the words to measure the truth of them. "Plutarkians. Got. Rimfire."

"What?!" Vinnie snapped into an upright position. "Who...how...?"

"Quickshift told me. Botched mission. God dammit!" Modo clenched both fists hard. His bionic one protested by running a visible blue current of electricity from fist to shoulder. If he felt it he didn't show it.

"Ohh what else could go wrong!" Vinnie punched one fist into the palm of his other hand, ears flattening back against his skull. He looked more angry than upset. He looked like he wanted to get out and vent his anger on a bunch of unlucky Limburger-owned goons. "I wonder if ol' fishlips knows about this one."

"Why would he?" Modo said glumly, "Rimfire was in the SAS. And our fat friend never seems to know anything useful."

"Better than sittin' on our tails doin' _nothin'_." This time Vinnie punched the wall close to his head. The resulting thud echoed in a very hollow fashion throughout the entire scoreboard.

"So what we're jus' gonna bust in there and then?" Modo folded his muscular arms - or one muscular arm and one rather blocky bionic one if one wanted to be pedantic about it - across his large barrel chest.

"It's worked before." There had never been a sweeter sound than that low, smokey voice that got girls swooning at the mere sound of it.

"Throttle!" Charley exclaimed happily. She was shocked and how gaunt and haggard he looked. His tan mane, out of its usual ponytail, was somewhat mussed up and tangled. If he'd been human he would have had some serious stubble happening. As it was his fur just looked a little on the 'need to be brushed' side.

"Bro..." Modo's posture loosened up. He didn't say anymore, just gazed at Throttle with the helpless look of a very lost puppy.

"I heard." Throttle's face darkened briefly. "He needs a lesson in tact." Running his fingers through his tangled brown mane, getting caught up in numerous knots, he said, "let's go see what Limburger knows." Turning abruptly, his long tail gliding gracefully out behind him in a very banner like fashion, he stalked off towards the exit to the scoreboard.

"No way I'm sittin' outta this one," Charley cut in before Vinnie could say a word. "I wanna keep an eye on Throttle." To her surprise, Vinnie merely nodded and allowed her to follow them to the undercover area where they kept their bikes.

*******

There was a look of mixed horror and amazement replacing the constant smugness on Mace's face. The cold, withered corpse of the rat lay at his feet, deathly pale in its inifnite sleep. No apparent cause of death. Not unless one counted the scratch marks on the shoulders, and a strange bluish tinge on a furless patch on the side of the neck. He looked at Harley and the strange feline girl.

Harley was looking just as shocked as he was. The girl was crouched in attack position in front of Harley, fangs bared. He vaguely noticed the two top canines were very prominent, the two lower ones slightly longer than the rest of the teeth. Her blue, lidless gem-like eyes were flashing, though from the lighting or her current mood or a combination of both he wasn't entirely certain.

"You do this?" Mace demanded, nodding towards the corpse.

A snarl that sounded a combination of a hiss and a growl emitted from the throat of the girl. It was a nasty, serrated sound filled with the promise of pain.

Mace was not about to let either of them see that he was rattled. His hand closed around the hilt of his blaster as he yelled "Did she do this?" at Harley. The beautiful chestnut mouse nodded mutely. Then the blaster was out. The girl sprang forward. Her speed startled Mace. He pulled the trigger almost reflexively and would have missed if she hadn't been almost on top of him by the time he fired.

The girl's silent growl turned into a very audible shriek as the force of the blast knocked her back.

_Little bitch._ Most of Mace's captives learned very quickly not to mess with him. He'd get the occasional spirited one, like this girl, like Harley had been. They broke relatively soon. He briefly wondered if he'd have the pleasure or if the girl's next owner would be able to handle her. He aimed a kick at her stomach, not to damage but to knock the wind out of her.

The girl flicked her tail, glancing off Mace's calf and knocking it enough so he missed her. Mace grimaced as pain lanced up and down his leg. Inadvertently he dropped to one knee, surprised to find the back of his pants on that leg had been sliced clean through. The material was rapidly being soaked with blood from the gash he'd received.

The girl gathered all four paws beneath her, glaring evilly at him from a crouch. She looked like she might spring again. Behind her, her elongated tail lashed menacingly.

"Heh," Mace smirked, struggling to his feet. His leg burned, but he was by no means crippled. Keeping his blaster trained on the girl, he said, "I know exactly what to do with you." Limping slightly, he stalked back out of the room.

*******

"Stoke." Scabbard touched his cap in a near-salute of greeting.

"Scabbard," Stoker returned with a nod. His mechanical tail thrashed once before waving indeterminedly through the air behind him.

"Never picked you for the father type," the seargent smirked, nodding towards the little girl trotting at Stoker's side, clinging to his hand.

Stoker sighed and glanced down at Windsong. "Long story. How's the General doin'?"

Scabbard's features clouded over slightly. "Not so good. Physically the medics say she's fine, but she don't seem to wanna come back from wherever she is."

_Probably in happier times._ "Out of intensive care?"

"Yeah. S'pose you wanna see her."

Stoker answered with a look and that was enough. "Still no cause?" he inquired as they walked down the back corridors towards the infirmary.

"Not that they've found. Whoever it was didn't rough her up much, not nearly enough to cause what's happened anyway. The only clue they have to go on is that bruise. Though how they got the fur off..."

As usual a thousand possibilites flitted briefly through Stoker's mind. As usual each one got dismissed for not being able to add up adequately to the result. "Think this is the year of not making sense," he muttered.

"Things haven't made sense since the government sold us out," Scabbard's voice held a hint of bitterness as he held open the door to the infirmary, admitting the two guests in before him.

"Mm." Stoker glanced around the infirmary. It wasn't busy, which was always a good sign. His eyes picked out the fully curtained off cubicle just as Scabbard pointed it out. Nodding slightly in thanks, he headed in that direction.

Minus the drip that snaked into her arm, Carbine looked like she was sleeping. Sleeping and about to wake up and yell at him for walking in on her. Which of course didn't happen. Stoker would have been a lot happier if she had. A smirk twitched on the corner of his mouth when he remembered when he had found out her and Throttle were together.

__

"Fraternising with the enemy, kid?"

Throttle, obviously not realising Stoker had been watching, had had the full complement of caught-in-the-act reaction. - freezing up with a beautiful stunned mullet expression. What Stoker would have given for a camera at that point in time. The memory turned his smirk into the hint of a smile.

__

The girl Throttle had been sucking face with - wearing army stripes - had turned quite casually and glared at Stoker, looking like she owned the place. "Problem?"

"No problem."

It had been in one of the momentary lapses of peace so he didn't mind. It mildly amused him at the time and he had even briefly wondered how long they would last.

They had lasted a while. Until recently anyway. No one was quite certain what had happened. She'd broken up with Throttle shortly before being attacked. Theories and the random gossip that people loved to indulge in were flying around as to why but no one knew anything, not really. Stoker walked over to the bedside, Windsong following closely.

"Carbine?" It was worth a try. Nothing happened. He wasn't expecting it to. With a sigh, he gently brushed her jet black mane off her neck. The blue welt jumped into his vision with all the subtlety of a noisy missile. He had been told it looked like a bruise. If bruises were one solid colour, an unnaturally bright, vibrant blue and delivered by something that was slightly elongated and narrow on one end, then yes it looked like a bruise. And then there was the problem of all the fur on top of said 'bruise' looking like it had been shaved off, while the fur surrounding wasn't so much as ruffled.

Stoker did have some comment in mind but it was lost on Windsong's reaction.

The child's silver eyes dilated, looking a lot bigger in their solidity than normal eyes would have under the same circumstances. Scrambling up the bed past Stoker, she'd rested a small hand on the bruise. Then, twisting around, her entire body screaming terror, she whispered, "He's here!"

This opportunity was not missed by Scabbard. "You know them?" Seizing on the opportunity involved instinctively grabbing at the child.

Reflexively Stoker stepped between them, catching Scabbard's arm and fixing him in a suspicious glare. "Mind tellin' me what the fuck is goin' on?"

Right on cue, Carbine suddenly jerked upright, almost knocking Windsong off the bed. Her eyes were wide open but unseeing. "_Throttle_!" she cried.


	7. Take Me to That Other Place

**VI: Take Me to That Other Place...**

Without prior knowledge, no one would have been able to tell that the mouse known as X was once a seasoned warrior, except maybe for his unmoving posture as he now stared in the face of death. He'd seen the cold flash of eyes, the sheen of velvet fur. He could hear it slinking around. He continued staring straight ahead, an ironic smile on his face. Death was a beautiful feline thing with large ears and dark blue eyes, and a darker mane of dreds. Emanating from it was a smooth, comforting purring sound. The purr surrounded him. He felt warm and safe, a feeling he hadn't felt for a long time, not since however long it had been since his squad had been sold out.

He'd known he was going to die for a long time. Those two other ones, one that looked around his age and the other just a kid really. They'd tried to talk to him, tried to convince him to partake in some escape plan. He couldn't. It had been done before, and it had only ended in death and pain. Death was always a certainty but it was closer than ever now.

X's body yielded to the slight pressure but other than that he barely moved as a soft, warm body pressed up against him. Death was female. His ironic smile widened. Typical. The weight he felt crawl into his lap seemed wrong for the mass his hands could feel. A slender tail eased around his waist. The purring was temporarily halted, replaced by a low, almost sad keening sound. Again he saw the flash of blue eyes, like two gemstones. A soft hand caressing his face.

"I'm ready," he said simply.

An almost inquisitive whistle. He could almost see her clearly, her feline head cocking first one way, then the other. Her odd eyes betrayed nothing, and yet he sensed trouble there. He waited.

She purred and rubbed up against him again. It was sweet, comforting. It was nice to just be held. The innate fear of death, always there regardless of how he thought about it, slipped away, replaced by a strange sense of peace. Her hand moved from the side of his face to his neck, just under his torn ear. She nuzzled into his opposite shoulder. The purr was closer. He barely realised it when he allowed his neck to relax, his head resting on hers, inhaling the sweet scent emanating from her dredlocks. He couldn't identify the smell.

The irony left X's expression, leaving him with a contented smile extremely out of place in his context. Somewhere in his conscious mind he was aware that the purring noise Death was emitting seemed to be originating from her lungs as opposed to her throat as one might expect. That thought only lasted for a second as a cold, prickly sensation beginning from her hand and spreading through his entire body commanded his attention. It tingled, but not in an unpleasant way.

He felt light...weightless...warm...sleepy...at peace. He tried to speak, to thank her. He felt strangely detached from his body. It had stopped hurting. Death was not black as one might have expected. Death was a deep blue-purple like the twilight sky. Death had oversized ears like butterfly wings. Death was strangely beautiful in an alien way.

Death rested a...it couldn't quite be called a hand...more of a large paw elongated enough to almost be a hand...over his eyes.

X felt himself drifting. He was free.

*******

"What the."

That comment from Modo pretty much summed it up.

Throttle leaned on the handlebars, staring impassively up at the multitudinous civilians crawling over Limburger Tower. A couple of months ago there'd been the supposedly insurmountable, indestructibly thick titanium laced reinforced concrete barricade (it was still there actually, looked like the hole they'd made had been repaired). Who knew what these guys were doing. But one thing was certain. They couldn't bust in there without potentially hurting innocents. And at any rate the civilians wouldn't understand and neither would the cops when they rocked up to arrest three Martians for disturbing the peace.

"Looks like our reekin' friend's finally wisin' up to us bros," Throttle commented. Though why he was only just starting to take preventative measures was anyone's guess.

"Excellent," cackled Vinnie, "maybe it'll be a challenge to get in there this time."

"Later, can't hurt the civilians."

"Awww man." Vinnie put on a huge show of looking annoyed and disappointed, but he knew as well as the rest of them did that they should try to keep the body count down as much as possible. Especially where innocent people were concerned.

Modo looked across at Throttle. "What now?" he inquired somewhat listlessly.

"Gonna make a few calls." Throttle revved his bike up hard, spun about leaving a neat arc with his back tyre and shot off in the direction of the scoreboard.

Modo, Vinnie and Charley exchanged glances. None of them had to ask the others if they thought he was going to try to get in contact with Carbine.

*******

- FLASH -

The locker-lined hall was strangely long, and it felt empty even though there were other people around. She didn't think it odd that although she could see their mouths moving, and see them moving, that she couldn't hear a single sound from them. All she heard was the gentle humming of her deck as she skimmed smoothly over the polished floor, echoing as though it were the middle of the night and she was the only thing alive.

There were others but they weren't important.

She paused when she saw him, kicking the board up towards her head and catching it neatly with one hand, tucking it under that arm. He was not too tall but definitely not short, slender and wiry. His tan fur shone gold under the right lighting. He didn't really stand out among the biker rebels, sporting the typical earring and black leather jacket, but it was easy to see why he was considered one of the most desirable guys in school.

His girlfriend was with him, leaning against the next locker as he sorted his gear out. She was one of those leggy blonde cheerleader types that Carbine despised. They had nothing between their ears and were completely ditzy and stupid, though whether by nature or by action she had never been able to determine.

"Will you leave me alone, Jem." He sounded annoyed. That was unusual. Carbine pricked up her ears.

"You're not still mad at me are ya?" Jem had one of those incredibly irritating I'm-so-perky-and-cheerful-and-happy-it's-impossible-not-to-love-me type voices. The kind of voice that was supposed to make brainless hunk types fall passionately in love with her gorgeous perky self and chase after her. Scarily though it worked most of the time.

He paused in what he was doing, not looking at anything in particular for a second before turning to Jem. "I told you it was over and I meant it."

"Really Throttle," Jem's tone of voice had changed to you-can't-posibly-be-serious, "we were just muckin' 'round, it didn't mean anything."

"Yeah?" Throttle slammed his locker shut, uncharacteristically bad tempered for him. "Well it meant somethin' to me." He turned swiftly, his golden mohawk waving gently. "If that's you 'muckin' 'round' with someone I'd hate to see what flirtin' is."

"Lighten up baby." Jem put an arm around Throttle's neck. He pulled back, gathering his books to his chest like a shield.

"Get it through your head, Jem. It's over. It's not a fight, I won't get over it, I'm not comin' back." He brushed past her, then paused and turned back. "I found someone else."

Jem stopped where she was, one foot poised in mid-step, her tail frozen in a sexy little kink behind it. That absolutely dumbstruck you-can't-possibly-be-dumping-me-do-you-have-any-idea-how-lucky-you-are-to-be-with-me-in-the-first-place-several-guys-would-love-to-be-you expression on her face was priceless. Carbine almost wanted a camera to capture the moment.

"Hey bikerboy," Carbine puffed that annoying bit of hair that would never every stay in place out of her eyes and smiled as Throttle approached.

He started out of whatever dark place he'd situated himself in. "Hey skatergirl." He smiled tentatively. He always seemed to be nervous around her lately. Carbine still wasn't able to figure it out. She'd kicked Vinnie in the balls the day they'd met, but that had been a while ago now. They'd never had any full blown fights, even over conflicting views they felt strongly about. They'd been working together on a group project for about three weeks but considering they were on a par with everything in it, she doubted it was that. They headed towards their next class.

"So you finally ditched the bitch?"

"Yeah." Throttle flicked his head slightly, sending his braid back over his shoulder to settle neatly along his spine. "You were right."

"Aren't I always?" Carbine grinned lop-sidedly.

"Most times." This time Throttle's grin was the more familiar, cheeky one, with no trace of the inherent nervousness.

"So," Carbine said casually, "who's this new girl?"

"Someone special," came the cryptic reply.

- FLASH -

"How fucking blind are you?" Throttle shouted.

"Orders are orders, runt," Quickshift returned, his voice never changing in pitch. "That's the way it is around here. And you better learn to respect that 'fore you get yaself into some real serious shit."

"Fuck's sake Quickshift," Throttle didn't so much pace as storm, "you gotta be able to see we're bein' misdirected!" 

"It's not up to you or anyone else to decide how these battles are fought. That's what the tacticians are for. You just shut up, follow orders and do your fucking job."

"We're goin' _nowhere_ jus' in case you missed it! It's fuckin' pointless! We're not helpin' anyone or anything. Fuck this, I'm quittin'."

"What?"

She hadn't known anyone else who could inject so much of a threat into one single, solitary word. At this point she'd stepped around the corner, still hovering around the doorway. It was none of her business...but at the same time it was all her business.

"I'm fuckin' quittin'!" Throttle yelled, fronting up to his older brother. This image of them burned into her mind, never to leave. This moment in time, frozen in her memory, placed in context, revealed every similarity and every difference contained in the two. Quickshift, three years older, was a couple of inches taller. He was broad-shouldered and muscly, and while wiry Throttle was not exactly skinny, Quickshift still made him look small. Quickshift looked like he'd give even Modo a run for his money. Both bore the same tan fur, the same dark gold manes. Throttle's was still rebelliously long, caught back in a ponytail. Quickshift's was long on top with short back and sides. They shared the same deep red eyes. Throttle's were still fiery and idealistic, Quickshift looked like he'd seen too much pain. Their poses reflected their personalities perfectly. Young, outgoing Throttle, fists curled slightly, leaning forward, weight evenly distributed on feet only just thrust out into a stable fighting stance, his tail held loosely out of the way behind him. Quickshift, prematurely aged by too much responsibility too soon, standing comfortably with feet shoulder width apart, muscled arms folded across his chest, with a glare that would shatter ice.

Training helps but it doesn't beat experience. Ready as he was, unready as Quickshift looked, Throttle was still caught mostly off guard when Quickshift suddenly rammed him into the wall behind him. The harsh blow knocked the wind out of Throttle's lungs. Reflexively trying to draw air caused a coughing fit.

"Those stinkfish scum killed our family. You gonna jus' sit back and let 'em get away with it? ANSWER ME!" The apparent twitch in Quickshift's hand was a well placed lovetap in the chest. Throttle, still unable to draw breath, shook his head vehemently. "You are always - running - away." Quickshift stood up, the disgust and the disdain evident in every hair on his body.

"We'd be doin' more if we were actually doin' somethin'," Throttle finally managed to rasp, one hand rubbing his chest where Quickshift had jabbed him. He looked up in time to see the older mouse glaring at him, then turn and saunter out of the room as only Quickshift could, his tail soaring gracefully behind him in the way Throttle emulated so well. The crestfallen expression in Throttle's eyes had nearly caused tough-as-nails Carbine to cry.

- FLASH -

He felt warm and wonderful, his body was firm and toned pressed up against hers. His mouth was sweet, she could almost feel him burning with desire. She pulled back and looked into his beautiful eyes.

"You look better like that."

"Was never big on the army. No offence." His voice was huskier than usual as he easily undid the buttons down the front of her uniform with one hand, the other at the small of her back, pulling her against him. She could feel how much he wanted to.

"None taken."

She smiled and drew him down, running her fingers through his dark gold mane, listened to him groan softly as she ran her claws down his back. He finished unbuttoning her shirt, easily sliding it over her slender, well toned shoulders, burying his face in her breasts. He murmured something that sounded vaguely like "oh babe", but she lost the meaning of it in the moment.

Nothing existed but the two of them.

- FLASH -

She could not believe herself. No amount of soap or anything could wash off the self disgust and self-loathing. She could not believe herself. How could she have done that? Sure he'd been cute but so had several other guys. Even when they'd hit on her (when they'd had the guts to - she usually polished them off shortly if they persisted) she had never once been tempted. What the hell had she been thinking?

One thing was certain. She could not keep something like this from Throttle. It wouldn't be fair to him, he deserved better than that. He deserved better than her. She turned her face up to the hot, hot shower, the searing heat mixing with her tears, washing them away, eliciting more. She didn't want to lose him. She could just not tell him. For all she knew he was probably cheating on her too.

She knew that was ridiculous as soon as the thought occurred to her. Throttle was the most loyal man she'd ever known. He'd never do anything like what she had done. She had to do the right thing. For him.

- FLASH -

She slithered recklessly down the side of the ridge, only just keeping her footing, somehow managing to arm herself a she went. The last two metres she pushed off, landing neatly on her feet but jarring her ankles. She only barely felt it as she hit the ground running, sprinting as fast as she could toward Throttle.

He struggled desperately against this...thing...she couldn't quite make out what it was, but it held him in its crushing grip, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of him. She fired off two shots at it, ducking gunfire that went past her, not concerned about it, only wanting to get there, to get him away from the thing.

Throttle struggled violently, and then went still. She screamed his name. She couldn't lose him. Not again. Not again.


	8. Alive andWell

**VII: Alive and...Well.**

Crawling along the walls of Limburger Tower like so many ants on and around an ant hill, the human drones worked tirelessly on proofing the tower against all but the destruction of the planet. Money was a wonderful thing. So many were driven by the need to amass it. Beings that called themselves "intelligent" measured power by it. The building companies currently working weren't asking any questions. Not with the amount they were being paid.

In an office on the top floor, overlooking it all was the man himself. Or fish if you wanted to be really technical. A too-large, malicious grin was spread evenly across his blubbery face as he watched the minions working.

Those insidious furry mammals had been and gone. A few times in fact. Without blowing up the tower. It had been standing for nearly a month with no major structural damage. If he'd known that all he had to do to keep his tower intact was have it crawling with the wretched humans he would have done this a long time ago. And at the end of it all, when it was too late fro them to be doing anything about it, the tower would be indestructible, insurmountable. And those miserable mice would never foil his plans again!

"Karbuncle!" The overly obese humanoid sang out. Obeying his voice dialling, the computer behind him immediately displayed a shot of the lab, with the psychotic hunch-backed scientist pushing seemingly random buttons and taking notes.

"Yesss your supreme cheddar cheesiness?" Karbuncle spun around fast as a 2D cartoon character flipping over, his maniacal grin broadening.

"How is our latest...experiment...doing?" The bowl of worms squelched disgustingly as a white gloved hand reached in and pried a few bodies from the tangled mass. The few selected victims squelched even more disgustingly as they were crunched between large, flat, pearly white teeth.

Karbuncle jumped cartoonishly, his disproportionately long limbs splaying out in all directions as a dangerously loud -THUD- resounded from somewhere off-screen.

"Still a little...uncooperative...odious malificence...but I'm working on it!"

The mad scientist was way too enthusiastic. But Limburger was in a good mood. Everything looked like it was going his way. For once.

*******

Quartz squinted as the rectangle of light stabbed through the semi-darkness, assaulting his eyes. Beside him, Benihana curled up, unintentionally releasing a slight whimper. He rested a hand comfortingly on her shoulder, and peered into the light.

Two Plutarkian lackeys hefted Rimfire's body into the cell. It struck the ground lifelessly with a dull -thud-.

Quartz didn't hear what the Plutarkians said as they retreated, slamming the door shut behind them. The sound of metal on metal echoed throughout the cell block. Painfully, forcing his stiff muscles into action, Quartz crawled over to the younger mouse.

His cream fur was stained with blood. The shallow gashes left by the electric whip healed rapidly, but the new skin they were forming over themselves was an odd shade of blue as opposed to normal skin colour. Quartz took this in with a glance. "Rimfire," he said softly, easing Rimfire into a sitting position.

Rimfire groaned loudly, leaning heavily against Quartz.

"...sir..." he managed, "...I didn't...tell them...anything..."

"Shh. I know son." Quartz dragged himself and Rimfire back to the makeshift bed he'd constructed from the hay-like substance that had been scattered around. It was scratchy and smelled musty, but it was a lot more comfortable than the concrete floor. Quartz's exhausted muscles gave out just as he reached where he'd left Benihana. He collapsed back on the hay, Rimfire half on top of him.

The younger mouse threw his weight sideways off Qaurtz, his head resting on Quartz's shoulder, the rest draped over the hay. Quartz kept a supportive arm around him, reaching around with his other hand to find Benihana. She shuffled closer, not giving any other indication of having reached consciousness.

Satisfied that his two charges were as safe as they were going to get considering the circumstances, Quartz let himself relax backwards until his head touched something relatively supportive. _I'll get us outta here_, he thought, unsure of whether he was speaking aloud or not, _...somehow..._

*******

Nightshade paced restlessly before the clear stuff. She could only just see it, if she tilted her head sideways the light reflected off it. It was bizarre. She could see through it but couldn't move through it. It was hard as the ground she paced on. She reached the corner, flowed liquidly around it and began following another clear panel down its length. She'd done this march many times and still could not figure out a way to get out. There was some of that clear stuff across the top of the cube she was trapped in as well. It didn't make sense.

There was sometimes an opening at the top. The reeking creatures had dropped in the furry thing from the top. She paused on her march and turned her crystalline eyes skywards, the impression of a frown flitting briefly across her face. Her long legs tensed pre-emptively, tail lashing left and right. The muscles in her legs relaxed again as her eyes travelled along the reflective sheen she could see along the entire top of the cube.

Dropping to her haunches, she growled softly to herself. Her tail lashed harder, thumping lightly against the clear stuff. She barely felt it. Her snarl increased slightly with her irritation. She choked it off abruptly and rose up on all fours, stretching her forelimbs nonchalantly.

One of the reekish things made an appearance, fading up on the wrong side of the clear stuff. It bared its teeth at her. She flashed her fangs back, a low, serrated snarl escaping her throat. The reekish thing bared more teeth, then faded back out of sight.

_Scratch one up for me._ Nightshade snarled to herself and continued storming, keeping alert for anything in the atmosphere that might have changed. Nothing had of course. How irritating. How the hell was she supposed to go and find Windsong if she was getting shuttled around the universe? She couldn't even remember how the hell she'd gotten here. Being unconscious after getting light-attacked by that...obnoxious little...furry thing...with big ears and the odd thing...(_I'm going to seperate his body parts when I find him_)...probably had something to do with it.

Nightshade snarled pointlessly at nothing in particular, venting her anger and frustration. She parked her rump on the ground suddenly, licked the back of one of her paws and smoothed her fur down. She glanced at the warm, rumpled stuff the other much nicer big-eared male furry thing had left behind. It was kind of bizarre that they left stuff when they disintegrated. She couldn't waste the energy he had willingly given. All of his energy.

She stretched and relaxed on her belly, gazing nonchalantly into the blackness, daring the reeking things to do their worst. If they had the guts to come into the cube thing with her after she'd very deliberately and quite successfully torn three of them to pieces. Her rough tongue ran over her velvety lips, then extended into a yawn. They'd tasted too bad to even consider absorbing. Her thoughts turned back to the furry one. _What did they do to you?_ He'd never answered, just smiled at her serenely. He'd felt and smelled of infinite sadness.

An opportunity would present itself soon. She had never encountered these reekish things before and could make a pretty good guess considering how many had fallen or been mutilated before they dropped her in here that they'd never dealt with the likes of her before either. What she knew of most sentient beings, innate curiousity would overcome them.

She would just have to be careful not to waste an opportunity when it presented itself.


	9. Bittersweet

**VIII: Bittersweet**

"_Why_ do you have to be such an asshole about this?"

Even subtle-as-a-bullet-train Vinnie treaded lightly. Throttle never yelled, not even when he was angry. He rarely even got angry.

"Orders are orders, runt," Quickshift's barely audible reply could have frozen anyone where they stood, even all the way from Mars. Throttle didn't sound overly phased by his older brother's icy tone.

"You outrank her doncha?" he sounded almost petulant. They didn't hear Quickshift's response as anything other than a low mumble, but they quite clearly heard Throttle's yell of frustraion, along with the sound of something being smashed.

"Shite," Modo growled. He bounded forward, moving quicker than someone his size and bulk had any right to, beating both Charley and Vinnie into the comm room. Throttle was slumped on the floor, his back against the farthest wall, surrounded by what looked like the remains of the frequency scanner. "Ease up on the hardware bro," Modo said gently, quicky assessing the damage with his remaining eye. That looked like the only thing that was broken, and although it was in a few pieces it didn't look like anything that couldn't be repaired. Assuming they could find the parts and assuming that nothing Martian had been damaged.

Throttle gave no indication of having hard him, remaining where he was holding his head in his hands. Modo paused for a second, not entirely certain what he should do, before sweeping across the floor and dropping to one knee in front of Throttle.

"Bro..." he tried.

"I've lost her," Throttle said, his voice hollow, barely audible. "Oh God I've lost her." He seemed to collapse further, curling into a ball, his sobs muffled.

For lack of anything better to do, Modo leaned forward and put his real arm around him.

-= o =-

Stoker paused in his restless pacing to glance again at Windsong. Her countenance was still tense, but at least she seemed to have stopped panicking. She was focusing very hard on cup of warm milk he had managed to scrounge up for her. Carbine had been given some mild sedatives and calmed down relatively quickly, but was either unable or unwilling to remember or talk about whatever it was that had possessed her to scream her boyfriend's - ex-boyfriend's? - name.

"How you feelin' princess?" he said casually, his mechanical tail humming softly as it viciously cut twice through the air, illustrating his own tension, before settling back into its usual random, non-descript waving.

"Okay," the little girl answered listlessly. Stoker approached her and dropped to one knee, eye level with her.

"Can you tell me who _he_ is?"

A visible shudder ran through the child.

"Hey," Stoker tapped her knee lightly with one hand, "don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you."

Windsong raised her head, gazing at him through the silver gems that served as her eyes. "Even Braxi was scared of him and Braxi was biggerer than you."

For some reason he couldn't quite identify, Stoker paused scant moments before spitting out some usual bravado tough macho mouse response. He studied the child for a moment before smiling casually and replying, "Well we'll jus' haveta keep away from him then won't we."

Windsong continued staring at him for a second. After not too much longer, a shy smile crossed her face. "Yeah," she answered.

"No problem then," Stoker beamed, wondering what on Mars had possessed him to come up with something like that but figuring it didn't really matter as long as it made the kid happy. "So can you tell me more about this guy so we can avoid him?"

Windsong curled up in her chair, hugging her knees to her chest. "He's mean," she said softly, the shudder running through her again.

"What's his name?"

Windsong shuddered again. She hugged herself tighter.

Something twigged inside Stoker. Following an instinct which had always been there but he'd never felt before, he swept Windsong up, plonked himself on the chair she'd been sitting on and settled her in his lap. She curled up against him, her tiny frame trembling. He held her gently, suddenly very aware of how small and delicate she was. Almost unconsciously, he smoothed her soft white hair. "It's okay," he murmured, "I won't let anything hurt you."

"Slider," Windsong only just whispered. Stoker hugged her gently as her trembling increased. He wanted to ask what this Slider had done. He knew he wouldn't. He didn't want the kid to be remembering things she didn't want to be remembering. Added to that he could guess at a few things and even the prospect of possibility of any of them made him want to hunt down this Slider guy on principle.

"What's this Slider look like?" he kept his voice low and soothing and casual.

Windsong's trembling increased at the mention of the name, but still managed to calm down enough to sit up and give him an odd look. "Anything he wants," she said, her voice only just above a whisper but still making it sound like the question was ridiculous.

_I don't know if I can handle this shapeshifter crap_, Stoker groaned mentally.


	10. Rats in a Cage

**IX: Rats in a Cage**

_Remind me not to breathe when the air smells funny_. It was bizarre, the type of stuff these life forms could come up with. There was rodent features with his silver shiny thing that kept hurting and knocking her out. He'd hit her with it one last time then she'd woken up here. Wherever here was. And those foul smelling things...she was pretty sure they were responsible for the air smelling strange before she randomly fell asleep. She hadn't even been tired.

She was in a box, not of clear stuff this time. All but one side was solid. She compressed herself into very skinny and slithered out through the metal grate on the non-solid side of the box, returning to her preferred shape on the other side. Obviously they hadn't learned from last time then. Sentient but apparently lacking in intelligence.

No one was around. Cautiously, she raised her head and sniffed the air. Aside from smelling stale with an odd undertone, it didn't smell like it was the type that would put her to sleep again. Ahead of her there was a rectangle of yellow light. From that direction, she could vaguely hear sounds of a battle, and only just caught the whiff of the sickly sweet taint of blood.

Remaining on all fours, lengthy tail held out behind for balance, she bounded soundlessly towards the rectangle of light. The sounds of fighting intensified, seperating itself out into a panaroma of noise as opposed to a single rabble. She could hear shouting, snarling, growling...cheering?

Nightshade paused at the entryway, peering out into what lay beyond. The arena made itself immediately apparent. She was only vaguely aware of the disgusting scent of many foul smelling things behind shiny clear stuff. She could see three rodent things in the middle of the arena, two male, one female. Surrounding them, occasionally lunging in, were three decent size creatures, one bipedal, one quadroped and one with no legs that just slithered around. One of the rodent things looked injured, only barely keeping his feet. The other two hovered protectively around him. One was bleeding from one arm quite profusely, the other didn't look like it had been battered about too much, yet.

Nightshade's brain twigged. She was running low on energy.

-= o =-

It wasn't without a severe amount of effort but Rimfire still managed to make the aerial backflip look like even a Plutarkian could manage it as he leaped out of the way of the charging horned quadroped. Quartz more staggered out of the way, driving one of the sharpened metal rods they'd found laying around into the beast's side as it thundered past. It was a typical tank type beast, fast when it got moving but nothing in the way of turning circle.

Rimfire landed on his feet, dropping quickly to one knee. The still healing wounds on his back flared agonisingly. He only barely had the energy to flick his hair out of his eyes. Quartz rolled into a crouch, conserving energy, waiting for the beast to swing around again.

The ever-energetic Benihana was running rings around the giant bipedal thing, but it was obvious as she stumbled and then tripped, catching herself, picking herself up, running on, that she wouldn't last much longer either. The thing was starting to match her speed, wheeling around faster, anticipating more accuately where she was going to be. It's sizeable teeth had come dangerously close to her on more than one occasion.

_I won't die here_, Rimfire thought fiercely, gritting his teeth, _I won't die here, I won't..._ Something slammed into his side. His numerous cuts and gashes sent jarring pain signals to his brain all at once as he hit the ground and rolled, tangled up in whatever had hit him. The rolling lasted a couple of seconds and then he was flat on his back on the ground. Opening his eyes, he got a brief impression of four muscular limbs and a well toned torso before the blue-black-purple thing sprang off him. Quickly he rolled himself into a crouch, turning in the direction the creature had leaped in.

He saw the dint in the ground where he'd been kneeling not seconds before, and the evil eyes of the snake creature glaring hungrily at him. He blinked as the snake suddenly reacted violently, arcing back as a blue thing attached to its head. It released a high pitched scream, thrashing its large head, before dropping to the ground and thrashing its entire body. Rimfire leaped back out of the way of the thick coils, landing beside Quartz.

"What the fuck is that?" he gasped, looking around for Benihana at the same time. She dropped in on the other side of Quartz.

"What the fuck is that?" she managed, as the snake continued thrashing. Its scales had gone a powerful, vibrant colour, almost radiating its own light. Attracted by the violent motions, the other two giant critters turned and lumbered purposefully towards the thrashing snake.

"No fricken idea," stated Quartz, taking advantage of the break to try to regulate his breathing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of most of the Plutarkians leaping to their feet in surprise probably, craning against the glass, staring in shock at the transpiring events. He smirked as he almost hoped the glass would shatter under their collective bulbousness and drop them into the arena.

The snake's colours faded as abruptly as they'd brightened. Its frenetic twitching went from violent immediately down to nothing. Much like a rope dropped from a great height, it dropped to the ground, unmoving.

The purple-blue thing dropped from its head, landing delicately in the sand on all four paws. It looked very feline, with giant, interestingly shaped ears, very unpractical looking waist-length dreadlocks and a tail that was way too long. It rested on its hind legs, cleaning its face with one almost hand-like paw, unaware of or ignoring the other two critters as they approached.

The bipedal one lunged, its giant maw opened. It could fit the entirety of the lanky cat thing into its mouth. The blue creature had other ideas. Looking up in a mildly annoyed manner, it flicked its tail once and then moved to one side.

The eyes of the three mice widened in shock, and for the most part the Plutarkians were stunned into silence. The forelimbs of the cat creature seemed to melt and liquidise, rippling instantaneously into a long, pointy lance-type limb and another slightly curved blade with a serrated edge. As it neatly sidestepped, the creature drove the long pointed blade into the shoulder of the bipedal monster dragging it a bit and making it stagger sideways in an arc towards her. It practically ran itself into the curved, serrated blade which she drew sharply across its throat. Dark, foul smelling blood spurted immediately from severed arterial veins. The cat sprang backwards to avoid being showered by the disgusting vitae.

The bipedal monster gurgled unpleasantly, stumbling along the ground until it crashed onto its front. It twitched a couple of times, blood puddling into the sand beneath it, and then lay still. The remaining beast lumbered towards the recently downed one and began tearing into it. The sounds of large bones being crushed soon filled the arena.

The cat thing, the weapons now reformed into paws, landed beside the Martian trio. It delicately shook off its front two paws as it landed, looking as disgusted as something with oversized eyes that looked like they were embedded sapphires could look. It turned to them, briefly flashing a pair of elongated canines. "Krrryow?" it purred.

Benihana tensed.

"Wait." Quartz caught her elbow, locking eyes with the cat thing at the same time. It - she - cocked her head to one side, one giant ear twitching, before suddenly twirling around, her long tail streaming out behind her, and bounding on all fours towards the exit. The three mice staggered to their feet and stumbled after her.


	11. Run Away

**X: Run Away**

"General," Stoker greeted playfully as he swept into the curtained off cubicle, Windsong balanced easily on one hip.

"Stoker." The slight curve of Carbine's lips could hardly be called even the shadow of a smile but Stoker gave her some credit for trying. "How long have I been out for?"

"Couple days. Don't start with me," he added hastily, seeing her arched eyebrow. He loosened his grip on Windsong, letting her slide down onto the foot of the bed. She fixed Carbine with her bizarre eyes, not saying a word. Carbine blinked, blinked again and stared back, her mouth dropping open slightly.

"Shapeshifter," the leader of the Freedom Fighters said shortly by way of explanation, as if they dealt with shapeshifters on a regular basis.

"...he had those eyes..." Carbine managed.

"Who?"

Carbine and Windsong continued staring at each other. Carbine blinked and forcefully tore her eyes away from the child, focusing instead on Stoker. "There was a man. I don't know how he got into my room. He had honey coloured fur and blonde hair, and the most brilliant blue eyes. Like hers." She nodded towards Windsong.

"Slider," the child whispered, curling up into a ball and shuddering at the mention of the name. Stoker automatically stepped over to the bed and put a protective arm around her. Windsong snuggled against him, still trembling.

"You never seen him before?" inquired Stoker.

Carbine racked her hazy memory before decisively replying. "Not before then. Never."

"So some random guy busts in an' tries ta waste ya. Who've you been pissin' off General?" Stoker smirked.

Carbine shrugged. "Jus' followin' orders. Unless they're startin' to knock people off for not followin' 'em to the letter these days." The delivery was almost funny, and it did make Stoker crack a smile, even if it was just a relieved one. Carbine looked back at Windsong, and this time it was a long, searching look. "What are they?"

"Shapeshifters. Like I said," Stoker answered. He looked at Windsong. "I did ask but they don't seem to have a name for themselves." He reached down and picked up the child, resting her on his hip. "Wha's wrong with you ay?" he asked, looking at her.

Windsong said nothing, clinging tightly to Stoker, her trembling increasing.

Carbine yelped suddenly, her hand flying to the furless bruise-like thing on her neck.

Stoker dropped Windsong on the bed, turning and reaching for his blaster at the same time as the curtain swished aside.

-= o =-

"Where the fuck are we?" Rimfire wondered, his voice hushed as it came out in ragged gasps. He relaxed his hand briefly before regaining a better grip on Quartz's utility belt, pulling the older mouse's arm more across his shoulders at the same time, supporting more of his weight.

"Should we be trustin' this alien chick?" Benihana inquired, checking around the corner and then motioning for them to follow.

"She seems to be on our side," Quartz managed, stifling a groan.

"Why coz she hasn't killed us yet? You saw what she did to that thing. And what the fuck is she?" Benihana paused. "Ahh fuck." She paused, staring in annoyance at the blank, moss-covered grey wall in front of them.

Rimfire glanced up at the dead end, exhaled softly in lieu of a sigh and pivoted himself carefully around Quartz, and stopped dead when he registered the muzzle of a gun in his face.

"Shit," said Benihana.

Rimfire looked up past the gun at its wielder. The dark face and scary-toothed from of a Stalker looked back. Another one came up behind him, also wielding a gun.

"Little mice running around in a maze," the first one smiled. The two of them yelped suddenly and collapsed to the ground, clutching their arms, revealing the cat thing behind them. One twitched. The cat thing looked disdainfully down at them, her tail lashing, before looking up at the trio.

"Trrrrrruuuuuu," she purred, then turned tail, dropping as she did and loped on all fours down the corridor. She paused and looked expectantly back over one muscular shoulder. The mice glanced at each other. Somewhere in the near distance they could hear the pattering of many fat Plutarkian feet accompanied by shouts, the voices too indistinct to make out the words. They were probably talking in their random blubbery babble anyway.

"Trrrprrrt," the cat thing hissed urgently. The mice hurried after her.

Of course it was the path that they probably should have taken instead of the one that they had eventually chosen, when they got back to the familiar looking T-junction. The cat thing glanced down the corridor that eventually led back to the prison complex, pausing at the other corner. All her sapphire eyes did was glitter in the half-light, but the three mice got a distinct impression of them narrowing. She motioned with her tail for them to continue on down the corridor.

Quartz groaned and tried not to lean so hard on Rimfire as the younger mouse again shifted him further onto his shoulders. "Best leave me behind kid," he said gruffly.

"That didn't work the last time sir," Rimfire responded without making eye contact, concentrating on the end of the corridor that he couldn't see as he willed his deadened limbs to carry them onward.

Benihana, following them down the corridor, paused and glanced back. The cat thing was crouched flat on her belly at the corner, her too-long tail flicking expectantly. The voices were coming closer. Reflexively, Benihana pressed her back against the wall, setting her jaw and feeling for a firearm that was no longer there. Cursing softly, she tried to press further into the wall. Squinting in the semi-darkness, she saw the muscles in the cat's rump twitch.

Unsurprisingly enough considering their weight, they thundered like a herd of elephants around the corner. The cat sprang. Her lithe body dissipated into little more than a blue-purple blur accentuated by silver flashes. The sickly green Plutarkian grunts, backlit yellow by the light from the prison cells, their mouths agape in horror, didn't even have time to draw breath for a scream much less get off a shot.

Benihana only realised her jaw was dangling when she closed her mouth.

It took slightly more time for the blood to start flowing. It very quickly stained the blue warden outfits a dark brown.

Benihana's eyes snapped back to the cat thing when she flicked her tail. Her gargantuan butterfly-wing-shaped ears tilted forwards, then backwards, then reverted to what seemed to be their original position. She turned, her tail streaming out smoothly behind her, and padded towards Benihana. When she drew level, the cat thing peered up at her. A deep, comforting rumbling suddenly emitted from somewhere in her body, and she softly bunted the Martian's hand with her nose, then pushed her lightly in the hip with her head.

Trying to shake the dazed feeling from her head, Benihana wordlessly trotted down the corridor, rapidly gaining ground on Rimfire and Quartz, the cat thing loping easily beside her.


	12. Drain

**XI: Drain**

Gravity seems to work better when you're tired.

Rimfire observed that fact as he barely became aware of one of his legs giving out. He was sure hitting the ground should have hurt a lot more than it did as he listened to the resounding thud echoing through his body, losing a bit of breath as Quartz landed half on top of him.

In absolutely no time flat Benihana was hovering over both of them.

"Shit you all right?" she asked softly, glancing back the way they had come as if worried the Plutarkians or the Stalkers - or maybe both - were still chasing them. Rimfire tried to draw breath, impeded by Quartz's weight. He felt Benihana come closer, felt Quartz rolling off him. "Rimfire!" He made eye contact with her and somewhere found the strength to nod.

Benihana sighed with relief. "Can you get up?" she asked. Rimfire didn't respond. He took a deep breath, then pushed himself into a sitting position. Benihana turned to Quartz, who hadn't moved from where she'd rolled him. She moved over to him and rested a hand on his head. "He's burnin' up," she said to Rimfire. "We gotta get outta here."

Rimfire nodded in agreement, deliberately taking long, slow deep breaths. Benihana glanced at him, then tried to move Quartz. He was about as heavy as his well-muscled bulk suggested he was. Benihana briefly wondered how Rimfire had managed to carry him all that way.

She started as electricity crackled between her fur and the velvety sheen of the cat as it slunk past. "Nuuu," the cat stated, glancing up at her and flicking an ear. The cat nudged Quartz. The red-furred mouse groaned softly, but other than that didn't move aside from the movement generated by the cat nudging him. The cat nudged harder. Quartz rolled slightly further onto his side. The cat glanced lazily back the way they had come, her ears flicking. The light flashed off one of her eyes. She turned back to Quartz, nudged his uppermost arm. Deftly, she dropped her head and flicked his arm over her shoulder. Using her arm closest to him, she levered him off the ground, flicking him onto her back. Her leg muscles tensed as she sank a little under his weight. Benihana got the distinct impression of a frown before the cat straightened, balancing Quartz carefully on her back.

The cat looked up at Benihana and emitted a series of not-unpleasant hissing noises, punctuated occasionally by clicking sounds. Benihana looked over at Rimfire, still sitting on the ground. "C'mon Rimi. We're movin' again." He nodded, and staggered painfully to his feet. Benihana grabbed his arm, steadying him and then slinging his arm over her shoulders, grabbing hold of his utility belt on his far hip. "I gotcha."

"You trust the cat?" he whispered with a bemused smirk.

"Got no choice do I," she grumbled back, throwing him a half smile.

-= o =-

"Got another vis..." Scabbard paused when he saw Stoker's drawn blaster, then looked up in confusion at the leader of the Freedom Fighters.

"Thank you Seargent," the tall blonde mouse with him purred, resting a hand on Scabbard's shoulder. Scabbard inhaled sharply, arching slightly backwards before dropping lifelessly to the ground.

"Scabbard!" Carbine started out of the bed, wincing as searing pain shot through her body. She fumbled for the drop in her arm, ripping it out backwards and clamping down on the spurt of blood that shot from the resulting hole.

"Come to finish the job?" Stoker snarled, training his blaster at the blonde mouse's head. The mouse smiled. His arms seemed to liquify and melt, going rubbery and flicking out rapidly towards Stoker's torso.

The dark brown mouse gasped and reflexively stepped back, his aim wavering only slightly. Intense, white hot agony seared one thigh as one of the tentacles slammed past it, the other not far behind.

Behind him, Windsong snarled much in the manner of a terrified kitten and lunged out in front of him, slapping at the other tentacle. The tentacle recoiled, accompanied by a hiss of pain from the blonde mouse. The tentacle whipped around Windsong's neck, ripping her into the air, face to face with the blonde mouse.

Stoker looked up from where he'd dropped on one knee. Windsong had frozen up, and the blonde mouse was snarling at her. Not just snarling, but sounding like he was actually speaking to her. Stoker scrabbled for his gun. Right now wass the time for face-offs, time that he demand that the stranger release the child. He got his hands on the gun, pointed it at the larger mouse and fired.

The blonde mouse pulled aside, the laser from the blaster slicing through the skin and flesh of his shoulder. He roared with pain, dropping the child to nurse the injury. Windsong fled from him, racing to Stoker's side. Stoker, his hands shaking, took aim as best he could and fired off again.

The blonde mouse didn't so much move this time as melt his body out of the way. He turned suddenly as the shouting and rapidly approaching footsteps came to the attention of all of them. Stoker took that opportunity to grab Carbine around the waist, Windsong by the scruff of her shirt and sprint from the cubicle.

There was a snarl of fury, and Stoker didn't have to look behind him to know that the blonde mouse...or whatever he was...was hot on their tails. Carbine removed the blaster from his hand and aimed over his shoulder. Stoker flattened his ears against his head as the blaster went off not far behind it. Carbine fired off a few more shots and then refocused on trying to help herself run.

Behind them the voices intensified into shouts of fear, anger, surprise. The sounds of pursuits receded as the three of them rounded the corner. Stoker paused to open the door to the outside and shortness of breath caught up with him. Not letting that stop him, he ushered Carbine and Windsong out ahead of him, then glanced over his shoulder. No sign of the blonde mouse.

He wondered if this is how characters in horror movies felt, never knowing where the supernatural spoooks were going to turn up next. He turned back, half expecting to see the blonde mouse in front him. Nothing.

His bike was exactly where he'd left it. He helped Carbine on first, then picked up Windsong, jumped on in front of Carbine and settled Windsong in front of him. "Hang on," he said, dropping the spare helmet on Carbine's head while pulling his own on, then gunning the engine hard. "Sorry girl," he whispered to the bike, patting its tank absently before letting it hoon out onto the street.

-= o =-

Vinnie straightened, the piece of scrap metal dangling limply from his hands. Uneasily he glanced across at Modo. The large grey mouse was digging like a fiend through the rubble, pieces that could well be half cars flying in all directions around him. It was just as well there was no one else around or someone could get seriously hurt.

"Uh...bro..." Vinnie tried. They hadn't been able to fix the ship for ages. Not initially, not with Charley's help, and with their fight against Plutark here on Earth, they hadn't had much in the way of spare time that wasn't spent chilling out.

"What?" Modo responded gruffly.

Vinnie wondered at the wisdom of continuing. It was one thing to hold hope, another to be delusional. "If the army couldn't find Rimfire, how are we..."

"The army couldn't find its ass with two hands." The force of his voice could have easily knocked the wind out of Vinnie. The albino hefted the scrap he was holding into the ever-increasing 'useless' pile.

"I'm jus' sayin'. If they can't find him with all the shit they know..."

Modo turned up to look at him from where he was on the scrap heap, his single eye blazing, a blood red aura covering half his head. His voice by contrast was surprisingly, almost scarily, calm. "Ah don' have a whole lotta family left." The fire in his eye died, and he turned back to the salvage operation.

Vinnie glanced at Throttle, silently toiling in the near-distance. He hadn't said a word throughout the entire exchange, not even to comfort Modo. Throttle quiet, Modo near breaking point. It was strange, surreal. Completely fucked up. Vinnie turned his back on both of them, refusing to acknowledge that vaguely familiar feeling of his lungs tightening, refusing to acknowledge that there was absolutely nothing he could do, not wanting to feel helpless.

_Big boys don't cry._ His father's voice had been gentle enough, but the disappointment in it was enough to leave its mark. He had been 15 when his mother died. After that he'd never cried again. Blinking angrily, Vinnie heaved another twisted, unrecognisable piece of metal out of the way.

The other guys had every reason to go back. Throttle wanted to straighten things out with Carbine. If there was anything left to straighten out. He wondered about those two sometimes. They'd been together for so long and come close to breaking up so many times, they had broken up a few times only to go running back to each other, perhaps this had been inevitable. And Modo, whose birth family had once been quite large, now only consisted of his tough-as-old-boots mother, and the twins Primer, student doctor and dedicated aid worker, and Rimfire, hotshot SAS not-quite-commando type, missing in action, possibly quite dead.

Aside from the Freedom Fighters, Vinnie didn't really have much to go back to. Mars was home. Or was Earth home? He'd been here for so long, him and the guys. Sometimes he missed Mars, but that was because he'd grown up there. And when one thought about it, there wasn't much left of Mars to go back to. Somewhere in the depths of his consciousness, like everyone else, he clung to the distant hope that the Plutarkians would finally be driven back, that Mars could be reclaimed, that the planet could slowly recover and become what it once was. Sometimes, at the back of his mind, he hoped to beat the shit out of Mace for the pain and suffering the traitorous bastard had caused. Somewhere deep inside, he carefully nurtured the well hidden hope that somehow, somewhere, Harley was still alive, still waiting.

And here on Earth there was still clean water, the air was still easy to breathe, the temperatures tolerable. And there was Charley-girl. He held up a piece of scrap metal, eyeing it critically. It looked like it would make a semi-decent patch, it was thick enough. Who knew what it had come off. He caught a reflection of himself in the tarnished metal. Four whole days of not trashing Limburger's goons or Limburger's tower and he looked positively homeless. Frowning in disgust, he tossed the metal over his shoulder into the 'useful' pile which had not very much else in it.

He absolutely hated not knowing where he stood with the universe. It's a long way down when you're falling from the top.


	13. Interlude

**XII: Interlude**

The small mound-shaped dwelling was dark and quiet. A very thin, couple of days old layer of surface dust rested peacefully on everything. A thin ray of sunlight streamed in through the partially opened curtains, illuminating the silent dance of a few dust particles in the air.

The roar of an approaching bike shattered the peaceful stillness. Dust unsettled as somewhere in the centre of the dwelling, a sleeping computer purred to life. With a barely noticed cascade of dust, the sliding door slid open. The dying rays of the evening sun poured in.

The child sneezed.

It made Stoker chuckle. And he needed a laugh after that harrowing experience. His mind was still trying to sort it all out. It was amazing what the mind could do. Even though he had convinced himself that he had accepted the fact of the existance of these hitherto mythological shapeshifting creatures (even if they weren't quite what they were in any story he remembered), he had still managed to almost but not quite forget that Windsong was not originally Martian. Despite the bizarre eyes. And he was having a lot of trouble working his way around what had just happened.

Carbine was business as usual. She walked straight into her room, undressing as she went and was practically half naked before the door to her room slid shut. Stoker took a bit to realise he was staring and quickly turned his attention to the kitchen shelves.

Grabbing a biscuit tin from the shelf and opening it, he grabbed one for himself and held the tin out to Windsong, taking a bite out of his biscuit in the process. Windsong reached into the tin and selected a biscuit, nibbling delicately on it as she wandered over to sit on the couch.

There were some female standards that Carbine blatantly and unconsciously refused to adhere to. Taking five hours to get ready was one of them. She was out of her room in just under two minutes dressed in desert colours, flicking her black mane back. A travel bag was slung easily over one shoulder, probably containing a few clothes and some other essentials. She bustled busily around the kitchen area, throwing seemingly random foodstuffs into a different compartment of the bag.

Stoker glanced at Windsong. The child was sitting cross-legged on the couch, staring into space, still eating her biscuit. He walked over to the kitchen. "I think the army knows something," he said quietly to Carbine.

"The army knows a lotta things Stoker," she returned, throwing a few more things into the bag which was in the middle of the kitchen.

The leader of the Freedom Fighters folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the fridge. "Anything you know? Scabbard seemed to have some idea what was goin' on."

"Scabbard overheard some things he shouldn't have. It was well above my clearance." Carbine dropped a couple more items into the bag, then dropped to one knee to zip it up.

"So," Stoker treaded lightly, "Quickshift would know?"

Carbine paused. She looked up at Stoker with a carefully blank expression. "Yes. He would."

"Then we should go ask him."

Carbine snorted, standing up and hefting her bag over her shoulder. "You won't get anything out of him."

Stoker had to admit that trying to get young Quickshift to associate even remotely with the Freedom Fighters despite the fact they were basically supposed to be fighting for the same cause was like trying to wrest prey from a sabersquid. He'd just short of disowned his little brother. Trying to wrest classified information from him would be an astronomical feat. Stoker conceded. "Good to go?"

"Whenever you're ready."

-= o =-

"Nyaamu," the cat called over her shoulder, half turning carefully. She clicked at them, her tail waving gently.

"Wish she'd learn how to speak a language we could understand," Benihana muttered. "Come on Rimi. We gotta keep moving."

"Don' worry 'bout me," Rimfire slurred, pushing her away.

Benihana sighed. "Dun be stupid. Would you leave Quartz behind?"

"No," he answered immediately, then blinked and focused on her. "Jus'...gimme a bit."

"I'd love to Rimi but we don't have a bit."

Rimfire groaned. "Help me up." Benihana pulled him to his feet, slinging his arm over her shoulder. He was trying his hardest but for the last leg of the journey he'd been leaning more and more on her. She was getting tired. The cat thing, while doing a great job of slogging it out under Quartz's weight, didn't look particularly healthy either. She had only stopped when the mice collapsed and even then had not dropped Quartz, but listened to something they couldn't hear and egged them on. "They can't run that fast can they?" he complained almost childishly.

"We're not moving that fast."

"Prrittnrrowwww," the cat said, cocking her head slightly to one side, twitching an ear and then her tail. She clicked again, and continued on down the corridor. Benihana and Rimfire followed. Rimfire unslung his arm from across Benihana's shoulders and shook his leaden limbs out.

"I'll be alright," he said determinedly, and slogged on. Benihana glanced over her shoulder, listening for whatever the cat thing was hearing. She must have pretty damn good hearing. Benihana couldn't hear a damned thing that wasn't immediately around them. But then again the cat thing had huge ears, bigger than theirs were.

The cat thing glanced back at them out of the corner of her gem-like eyes, then picked up the pace. They walked through a tunnel and onto a narrow walkway over a decent-sized drop. Below them, a large expanse of sewer network reeking of something like chlorone, spread out, looking like every sewer junction in the known history of civilisation. Quite suddenly, she turned sharply and ran up a pipe, shocking Benihana and Rimfire briefly out of their deadened stupour by sprouting a pair of tentacles out of her shoulder blades and wrapping them securely around Quartz before doing so. Her paws made odd suction noises as she bounded rather clumsily up the pipe, disappearing into another tunnel.

From just inside the tunnel mouth they heard her clicking at them.

"Go," Rimfire said, turning to look back the way they'd come.

"Don't you do anything stupid," Benihana said. She carefully climbed onto the pipe. It was fuzzy from being covered in some kind of mould or something, but not slippery. She scrabbled up it, kicking off some moss here and there and exposing the tarnished yellow metal of the pipe. As she got halfway up, a large, handlike paw extended out of the darkness towards her.

Benihana paused briefly, then took hold of it. The remaining distance was a breeze as the cat thing apparently experienced no difficulty pulling her up. It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the dark. She was about face to face with the cat, half raised on her back legs. Quartz was slumped on the ground about five metres behind her. The cat dropped back onto all fours, peering up at her, then nudging her towards Quartz on the way past. Benihana walked over to Quartz and slumped against the wall beside him. Suddenly her limbs felt dead. She wasn't sure if she could get up again even if she wanted to.

She could hear their pursuers now. They sounded very far away. She heard a scrabbling as Rimfire clambered up the pipe, being pulled up the rest of the way by the cat. He collapsed noisily beside her, breathing heavily.

"Where's the cat?" Benihana wanted to know.

Rimfire shrugged, taking a few deep breaths before responding. "She jumped out after she pulled me in."

"Great." Benihana glanced at Quartz, still unconcious where he'd been put. "We on our own now?"

"Give her a bit. She might come back." Rimfire rested his head against the wall, determined not to close his eyes. He just wanted to sleep. He wanted to wake up back on Mars, at home, with grandma making one of her overkill-enough-to-feed-the-entire-Martian-army breakfasts. Primer would be there on leave from her training, and Uncle Modo would be back from Earth, and they would go fishing. His mum would be back from wherever it was she'd gone to all those years ago. Maybe Throttle and Vinnie and Stoker would come over. And Vinnie would bring Harley. He wondered if Beni and the cat would be interested in joining them for lunch.

Benihana shuddered. Rimfire automatically touched her arm comfortingly, the motion drawing him back into the real world. A light sneeze at the entrance of the tunnel caused both to start and reach for weapons that didn't exist. The silhouette of the cat parked its rear in the entrance, her tail flicking as she went through the motions of cleaning herself, occasionally sneezing and spitting.

Not long afterwards she padded towards them, settling herself next to Quartz. Her body elongated before their eyes, stretching towards them. They were too tired to protest as she gently plucked them off the wall, dragging them towards Quartz. She settled loosely around them. The velvet sheen covering her was wonderfully soft, and her strange, pliable body was comfortably warm and rumbled soothingly with the ambient purrs that came from somewhere deep inside her.

"Want me to take first watch?" Rimfire mumbled sleepily. He had enough time to register that Benihana had passed out before the world went black for him.


End file.
